


Guess I'll Die

by hxtsauseboi



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, Graphic Depiction of Suicide, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Rated Mature for kinda violence and cursing, Suicide, Zombie AU, no boyf riends becuase that's necrophilia in this context and I'm not about that life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxtsauseboi/pseuds/hxtsauseboi
Summary: Eyes snapping open, Michael’s hand flew to his neck where he pressed two fingers. Nada. His breath didn’t fog up in the November air, as he didn’t breathe at all. His skin was cold and greyed, and his flesh felt a little bit softer, even the bonier parts of his body, like he had started to decompose.Fuck, he was a zombie.





	1. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of Monsterunderthefedora's Zombie AU
> 
> go read their fic it's gucci

Michael was, to put it lightly, confused as fuck. Also, quite terrified, because whatthehellwhywasheinaboxhewasgoingtodie-

 

He closed his mouth. Panicking would not solve the issue. That would make it about 20 times worse. He wasn’t exactly a genius, but Michael was pretty sure his air was rather limited in this tiny ass box. The plush lining, however, did feel rather nice.

 

“Hello?” he called, pressing against the roof of the box. “Is this some kind of prank?” It really wasn’t too low for the popular kids to stoop. Knocking him out and throwing him in a coffin. It would certainly give them a laugh. “Guys, come on, you got me.”

 

Hand brushing up against his sleeve, Michael realized his signature, red hoodie was also absent. The casket was far too dark to tell, but the fabric felt silky and tailored. He reached a hand inside the sleeve, running his fingers across the cold skin. He stopped the second he felt the stitches.

 

_ Get out of my way, loser. _

 

Shivering, Michael turned over, curling into a slight ball. He rubbed the stitching, running his thumb across the bumps in a circular motion. Raising a fist to the wooden box, he slammed into it. Throwing his hand into the oak, he felt it splinter and crack under his skin. Dirt poured into his little space, obscuring his view. Michael dug his hands into the soft soil, clawing through the soot.  _ Shit, they even buried me. Assholes,  _ he thought.  _ Damn, have I been this hungry the whole time? _

 

He could feel a pit in his stomach and Michael knew he was fucking starving. God knows how long he had been buried under the soil, but his sudden desire for a cheeseburger gave him renewed vigor. At some point, it might have occurred to him that,  _ hey, I’m completely submerged in dirt and have no realistic way of breathing but I’m still fine and also I haven’t been breathing and it’s been at least three minutes,  _ but Michael was frankly too tired and hungry to care or listen.

 

The ground broke, and Michael pulled himself up into the dying twilight. The grass around him had yet to grow back fully,but little sprouts had popped up in the soil. Of course, they too had just recently met their demise as a certain boy lay on top of them, dusting himself off. Michael noted that the garments he wore were actually a suit, albeit with some holes and absolutely coated in dirt and grime. The thing was actually quite nice, a deep, velvet blue, not unlike Jeremy’s old cardigan.

 

_ Jeremy. _

 

Michael hissed and clutched his head, which had begun burning like fire. He backed into something and tripped over it. Now he writhed on the ground, gripping his head in his hands.

_ Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy. _

 

Standing up, he opened his eyes and looked around the place for the first time. Stone slabs rose from the ground, each adorned with trinkets and dying flowers and coins. A cemetery. 

 

Shit, it was a cemetery. Like, the kind with dead people. Michael scrambled to the object he had tripped on, eyes widening and heart sinking with every word.

 

**Michael Mell**

**1998-2014**

**Cherished and remembered in death as he was in life**

 

Yet again, his hand found it’s way to the stitching along his wrists. He chewed his lip in shocked wonderings as his memories flooded back to him.

* * *

 

 

_ “Get out of my way, loser.” _

 

_ Jeremy stalked past him, eyes determined and trained forward. He walked with a swaggering gait so, so alien on him. Michael looked up at the ceiling, tears threatening to spill. He nodded, a smile of bitter acceptance clear on his lips. _

 

_ Jeremy said nothing. The door slammed. Michael was alone, abandoned in Jake’s bathroom at a Halloween party. He sat in the corner of the room behind the toilet. Legs curled around his face. He buried his nose into his knees, a choked sob coming out of his mouth. _

 

_ “Hello? Some people need to pee!” a girl shouted. _

 

_ “I- I’m on my period,” Michael managed. _

 

_ “...Take your time, sweetie.” _

 

_ He curled in on himself even further, letting the tears stream silently down his face. Jeremy, sweet, perfect Jeremy, was gone. He’d left to fly with the eagles, every wingbeat ripping him farther from Michael, his only friend. No, Jeremy had plenty of friends now. It was just that he was Michael’s only friend. That was it. _

 

_ Michael could feel a cold heaviness in his chest, an empty void he knew would not ever be filled. He longed for Jeremy. That boy had the perfect laugh and smile and everything that Michael would and could ever need, Of course, these words were sealed away, words that Michael didn’t have the courage to admit. He never would. _

 

_ His vision went black, but he stood up and walked across the bathroom. His shoes softly squeaked on the shiny tiles, but that was drowned out by the ringing in his ears, and the pounding of his heart. _

 

_ Somehow, he wound up with a single razor in his shaking hand. Somehow, that razor ended up kissing his skin as Michael crawled into the bathtub. Somehow, he pressed down and dragged the blade across his olive skin. It tore like paper, leaving a red, shiny trail of blood in its wake. He closed his eyes, cold, red fluid snaking down his arms. It was an okay party. _

* * *

 

 

Eyes snapping open, Michael’s hand flew to his neck where he pressed two fingers. Nada. His breath didn’t fog up in the November air, as he didn’t breathe at all. His skin was cold and greyed, and his flesh felt a little bit softer, even the bonier parts of his body, like he had started to decompose.

 

Fuck, he was a zombie.

 

He felt the pain in his stomach again, and knew it was probably time for a snack.  _ If I actually have to eat brains, I’m offing myself. Again,  _ he thought, striding across the graveyard. He didn’t walk like a traditional zombie, which was certainly a plus. Michael was faster and overall less stupid-looking. He jumped the fence, trying to remember where the nearest 7-11 was.

 

Luckily, it was only a mile walk, which was covered rather fast. Unfortunately, the sun had gone down a while before, and Michael was so hungry he probably could eat an actual human. The sliding doors announced his presence as he, with no better way to put it, crawled in.

 

The poor cashier looked terrified, which was totally understandable to Michael. If he worked here, a pale, suit-clad and dirty teenager would be at least mildly concerning. The scent of the meats immediately attracted Michael, and he dragged himself over to the beef jerky. He ripped open a package quite viciously, and ripped into a piece.

 

“Sir? You’re, um, gonna have to pay for that,” the cashier squeaked.

 

“Huh? Oh yeah, um, sure.” Michael dug around in his suit pockets, before realizing: dead people aren’t usually buried with money. “I, uh, don’t have anything?”

 

The cashier sighed, assuming Michael was just some homeless druggie or basket case, which wasn’t entirely false. “Sir, I’m gonna ask you to not come back, and also to leave.”

 

“Right,” it took all of his energy to do so, but he dropped the jerky on the counter and walked out of the store, still feeling famished.

 

Well, so much for that. Michael trudged down the street, thinking of some new plan. One that didn’t involve his former best friend.

 

It was too bad he didn’t have much of a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was edge


	2. Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy is a bad, sad boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly introspective filler wh o op s

Jeremy couldn’t even remember what had happened that night. At first he was on the couch with Christine and then he was staring at the dead body of his best friend. It was Jenna who found him, or at least Jeremy was somewhat sure, limp and pale and drenched in blood. After that it was a blur. Jeremy went into auto pilot, a sick calm washing over his mind. It was probably the SQUIP fucking with his emotions, but he couldn’t even remember.

 

He woke up an hour later in his bed, covered in his own sick and face crusted with tears.

 

“Jeremy, you have to get over this,” the SQUIP chided, examining their nails. “This will pass, but you still have a reputation to uphold.”

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jeremy choked out, sobbing into his hands. “That was my fucking best friend and he’s gone because of you!”

 

“No, he’s gone because of you.”

 

The SQUIP gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not the one who called him a loser.”

 

No response. The two fell into a silent void, interrupted only by Jeremy’s wailing. The guilt and anguish washed over him like stinging, salty waves in an endless ocean. With each breath Jeremy was dragged farther and farther into the current, a torrent of bubbling self hatred and convulsing emotions. They were all so raw and abstract that they had surpassed coherence, just flashing colors and half-finished words.

 

That cold, forlorn Halloween, Jeremy stared up at the ceiling, letting the dark thoughts and bitter feelings seep into his mind, with only a ticking clock and a sociopathic supercomputer grounding him into the real world

 

The real world he irredeemably fucked up.

* * *

 

The funeral was on November 3rd, what would likely be the last sunny day of the year. Jeremy stared into the cemetery’s golden oaks, tracing the mottled splotches of light with his finger. He couldn’t find it in himself to listen to what anyone had to say. Every time Michael’s name was mentioned, or some little quirk about him was noticed, Jeremy shrunk a little, lost and defeated.

 

He narrowed his eyes at the sun escaping through the leaves. It was a beautiful day, and Michael wasn’t even here to see it (However, Jeremy did take comfort in knowing that Michael, being the basement-dwelling recluse he was, probably would not have seen it anyways) The birds whistled up in the treetops, and somewhere down the street Jeremy could hear children playing. Jeremy hated it, how the world continued to function while still having the audacity to fall apart around him. As selfish as it sounded, he wanted the world to crumble, like he was at that very moment, feel the excruciating pain of losing the one static, positive force in your life. To him, the world was some surreal pocket in time, where everything felt still and hopeless.

 

He realized his breath was coming out in short, quick gasps. Jeremy took a few deep breaths from his nose, fiddling with the cuffs of the hoodie he wore. Michael’s hoodie.

 

“Jeremy, let’s go,” the SQUIP urged for the third time that afternoon.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he sighed, standing up from the dirt. For the first time in so long, he had a thought that was completely guided and cemented by him.

 

He fucking hated his SQUIP.

* * *

 

For the next week, he fell into a dull pattern. He’d wake up at around noon (his father gave him a school-free week to figure things out) in his same clothes, pull on the hoodie, and play only Michael’s favorite video games. Twice, the Mells came over, and both times Jeremy allowed them to cry on his sofa and eat the muffins and taco casserole that Jake had helped Jeremy make. Jeremy was always too tired to cry with them.

Jeremy was surprised at how gentle his more popular friends were being with him, despite barely knowing Michael. Brooke and Jake set aside the ‘almost had sex with Chloe’ thing, and Chloe herself would sometimes offer a shoulder to cry on. Jenna and Christine also provided company and comfort, and as much as Jeremy really did appreciate it, the act was tiring. For all of them. The group also had to cater to Rich, who was in the hospital due to a fire that had started sometime after Jeremy left.

 

Suicide AND arson, Jeremy would bet Jake was having a fun time cleaning up that mess.

 

The first two days of this painstaking and dull pattern, the SQUIP definitely gave Jeremy a piece of their mind, and a hearty amount of electrocution. It got boring after the first five hours.

 

“Jeremy, get up.”

 

Shock.

 

“Jeremy, I said get up. Right now.”

 

Shock.

 

“Moping around won’t help you, Jeremy. You could use this. Garner sympathy from your peers.”

 

Between shocks, Jeremy would mumble a ‘no’ or a ‘stop’ and sometimes give the SQUIP the middle finger, if he was really feeling gutsy. After that, the computer stopped trying, seemingly content to let Jeremy lay on the couch, play video games, and jack off all hours of all hours of the day.

 

On the fourth day, Christine showed up on his front porch, stunning as ever. In her hands was a large, glass dish wrapped in aluminum foil. She bore a small smile. “Hi, Jeremy. I brought a breakfast casserole.”

 

“Hey, Christine,” Jeremy mumbled around a pop tart. Just over a week ago he would have been fluttery and nervous around this girl, but now he just felt heavy. “Please, come in. I hear it’s supposed to snow.”

 

“Oh, thank you!” she grinned, stepping inside the house. She kicked off her boots and placed the dish on the dining room table. “I also made one for Mr. and Mrs. Mell.”

 

“That’s really nice of you,” Jeremy commented. “Wanna sit on the couch?” She followed down to the family room, where Tomb Raider was paused on the TV. Jeremy picked up the controller and unpaused it. “How have rehearsals been?”

 

“Oh, good!” Christine piped up. “Mr. Reyes said he can get you an understudy if you aren’t up for the performance next weekend.”

 

“I...don’t really know yet. I’ll email him on Friday.”

 

Christine nodded. “Jeremy… how have you been holding up?”

 

He glanced away from the screen. “I’ve been doing okay, I guess.” She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Ugh, I don’t know? I’m tired, and I just want to wake up and see Michael.”

 

“Jeremy, I’m really sorry you have to go through this.” She stood up, pulling him into a hug.

 

_ Now’s your chance, Jeremy, _ the SQUIP said in his mind. Jeremy paused.

 

_ Shut the hell up, _ he returned.

 

“It’s all my fault. I called him a loser, I abandoned him, it’s all my fault.”

 

“Jeremy, don’t say that! You made a mistake.” She stood there for a while, whispering soothing words to Jeremy.

 

He felt okay after that.

* * *

It had been a week since the funeral. Jeremy decided to let Mr. Reyes pick an understudy for him, as he couldn’t bear to focus on the play. It was currently nearing midnight, and Jeremy sat criss-cross on his bed, working on missed schoolwork. The SQUIP wandered around the room, examining Jeremy’s various belongings with almost interest.

 

“You’re slouching,” they blurted. Jeremy hunched over even more. “You can’t disobey me forever.”

 

“I’ll do what I want, jackass.” he hissed, glaring at the SQUIP, who sighed.

 

“This new rebellious attitude is not how you make friends. Or get a girlfriend, for that matter.”

 

“You ruined my life, and everyone else’s.” Jeremy snapped.

 

“Jeremy…” they warned.

 

“I can deactivate you. Rich told me how. I just need Mountain Dew Red.”

 

“Oh right, the soda we had discontinued!” the SQUIP laughed. “To get rid of me, you’d need a time machine to the 1990’s.”

“Or… o-or a friend so old school he buys 90s soft drinks from the back room of Spencer’s gifts…” Jeremy whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

 

The SQUIP gasped, pointed teeth twisting into a grin. “Too bad you don’t have one of those.”

 

“Anymore.”

 

Jeremy stood up in a flash, knocking over a lamp on his bedside table. “I dare you to say that again!” he shouted, eyes blazing. He and the SQUIP stood like that, glaring into each other’s eyes.

 

_ Crash! _

 

The two of them looked over to the door. Whatever broke was in the kitchen. Jeremy slowly opened his bedroom door and tiptoed down the stairs, the SQUIP following. It was mostly dark, save for the refrigerator light casting a white sheen on the kitchen. Jeremy relaxed. Just his dad grabbing a midnight snack.

 

He almost turned around, until one thing clicked. That was too small to be his dad. He whirled around again to take a closer look, noting the dirty blue suit and dark skin and morbidly familiar face.

 

“Michael?”


End file.
